Livin' on a Prayer
by V. Lohengrin
Summary: A memento, a reminder, a solid prove of what they had done. Warning: blood and gores, heads, limbs, etc.


**Livin' on a Prayer**

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><p>The night was quiet. There were no sounds outside the small bedroom. It was lit only by the moonlight which slipped in from the thin curtains, making out the lines of two bodies lying on the bed.<p>

Eric curled on his side; his deep breaths told the other occupant of the bed that he was in deep sleep. The said other occupant groaned softly and reached out blindly for his glasses on the nightstand.

Alan blinked a few times—wondering why he had woken up from his sleep out of nowhere. Eric was still beside him, everything seemed alright—what was the problem?

He popped back down and put away his glasses, wrapping an arm around Eric's waist and pressed their naked bodies together for more warmth. No—he would provide more warmth for Eric. It was rare that they would sleep in this position—usually; it was the other way round.

At this close proximity, Alan could see it clearly without glasses—the wide, reddish scar that started from Eric's right shoulder down to his waist. He felt a pang of guilt at the sight. Eric had always avoided showing him the scar to prevent that—but tonight, it seemed that Eric had forgotten about it—unconsciously.

It had been a prove that Eric had never failed to protect him, but still—

—that night was one of the unforgettable nights of his immortal life.

He was quite new, he had only joined them for about three months, and it was his third reaping with Eric, his mentor. The reaping itself was quite simple. They were supposed to collect the soul of a young girl who lived alone in a small house in the dark alleys of London and they would have finished their work for the day. They had arrived there three minutes before her death—"Quite on time," Eric had said—in front of the door.

However, the sounds inside the house made it quite a different case. The young girl lived alone, and she was ill. The sounds did not sound like a sound a girl would make anyway.

Eric had quickly pulled him to hide at the side of the house.

"Listen, Alan. Something's inside. May be a demon, may be something else. You stay behind me all the times, got it? If anything happens, go back, get Spears, and don't worry about me. Are we good?"

Alan looked up at him hesitantly. "But, if it's really a demon—"

"—then I'll fight. If I can't handle it, you'll go get help. Alright?"

There he go—a stubborn Eric was not something he could handle yet back then. "…alright. But you have to promise me that you'll be careful."

"Deal."

Eric crept up to the door and twisted the handle quietly. It was not locked.

"Behind me, Alan."

He threw the door open.

It was dark inside—too dark even for their reaper eyes to see anything. Eric entered cautiously with Alan—behind him, as instructed, and clutching on his death scythe so tightly he was sure the handle would have broken had it not been a death scythe.

The first room was the living room, it seemed. There was a set of old, tiny couch and a dirty coffee table. There was nothing else there.

And then there was a ripping sound from their left. Eric twitched and brought his death scythe on fighting position.

"There is something," he whispered, his voice trembled more than he would have liked. It was confirmed by a loud bang later, right after he finished whispering.

Eric nodded and pushed the door beside them open.

The head of the girl whose soul they would be reaping greeted them, her eyes lifeless. Alan almost threw up at the sight—but it was nothing compared to the rest of the room.

That thing—whatever it was—was chewing on the dead body. Its crimson eyes glowed at the sight of them. It was big, almost two metres in height, Alan supposed, and the blood and gores decorating the dimly lit room was enough to tell them more or less what exactly they would be facing.

A growl and a leg thrown at them was all they got before it pounced on them.

It was a demon alright, and a strong one. Eric was strong, and Alan had his death scythe, but it was still quite a bother to them. The skin was made of something really hard—it was quite impossible to simply pierce the heart even with a death scythe of a reaper. The fight was loud and brutal—how they did not wake a whole London back then was a miracle.

The first slash that landed on the opponent was made by the demon, on Eric's arm. Eric had been thrown against a wall with a loud slam, but managed to roll away as Alan landed his first slash on its back. The demon howled in pain and turned away—giving Eric the chance to escape its claws.

Alan gulped when the red eyes turned to him. He had not faced any demons before—he had figured that the first time would be bad, but this was more than bad. It slammed one of his hands, intending to slap him away, and Alan had brought down his death scythe on time to slash the claws away. His move had made no injury, but still managed to save him from the tips of the metal-like claws. Unfortunately, the movement had been a trick, and Alan, who lacked of the experience to deal with demons, did not see the tail coming after it was too late.

It felt like being struck with a massive street lamp or something. The whole tail smashed into his body, sending him flying across the room and out of the window with a loud crash and pieces of glass. The force was too strong for him to stop, and damn—forgive his language—it must have had tiny thorns on the end of its tail where it slammed his shoulder. The pain of everything was too much, and before he could think any further, he had lost his consciousness.

His head pounded harshly when he came around hours later, lying on the grass. For the moment he had been confused with everything around him, before the memories of what had happened dawned on him. He felt dread hit him hard when there was no sounds coming from the house, and from as far as he could see, no movements, either.

"No! Eric!"

He ran into the house through a giant hole on the wall. His death scythe lied uselessly on a side of the wall where he stood before he was hit, and from the corner of his eyes he saw a big bulge of something on the floor.

It was the demon, dead, but there was no sign of Eric.

He crept carefully to the other side, avoiding stepping on the gores as much as he could.

"Eric?"

He had covered the bedroom, but there was still no Eric.

And then, when he was about to walk towards the living room—or whatever remained of it—to check, he saw it and terror hit him even harder than before.

Few strands of golden curls—and a reached out arm—beneath the body of the demon.

"N-No! Eric!"

He had shouted in panic and kneeled beside the demon. Eric was there, unconscious, and fully pinned under the corpse. He tried to push the demon away and pulled Eric out, both without avail.

His tears streamed down his cheeks as he racked his brain for some ideas to save Eric.

The best thing he could do, without leaving Eric to get the others for help, was to cut the corpse to smaller pieces and remove them.

He quickly set himself to work. He could not be sure if Eric was still alive or not, but reapers were supposed to be immortal, weren't they? He could not—and would not—forgive himself if anything happened to Eric. Not this time, and not like that. Eric was supposed to be living and well, hopefully beside him forever, and he had worked harder with that in mind. No, whether or not Eric would be with him was another story—his priority was Eric's wellbeing.

The body was very difficult to be removed even in smaller pieces, and when he was done, Eric was covered in thick mess of its green blood, crushed and wounded.

He had sobbed and pulled Eric into his lap, begging him to wake up. Reapers did not have any pulse, but Eric was not breathing, so in that short moment, Alan had thought that he had lost him.

He had cried and pleaded—Eric could not leave him alone just like that. He had promised to teach him everything about his new life and he had to be alive to fulfil that. He had shaken his body, and even slapped him a couple times, and he could not believe his ears when he heard a soft groan.

"Eric!"

Eric did not say anything, but he opened one of his eyes and tried to move his right arm to hold him.

"It's dead, it's okay now," he had held Eric's hand, and stayed there with him until early morning until Eric had gathered full consciousness and enough strength to move.

He, again, could not do anything when Eric stubbornly pushed himself up to sitting position despite the giant gaping wound on his back.

"I'm… alright. Just… don't cry, Alan…." He had reached out and wiped his tears away, blushing lightly as he did. "Don't cry…."

The awkwardness remained for a while before Eric smiled sheepishly and held out his arm. "Help me up? Think my ankle is broken or something…."

Alan quickly nodded and did so, but it was not until Eric's comment had left his lips did the uneasiness fully left them.

"Oh yuck. I smell like hell!" he groaned loudly.

Alan giggled. "There was no other way, so don't complain."

They had hobbled all the way back to the shinigami realm—Alan because of Eric's weight, who had been leaning on him for support, and Eric because of his injured leg. Alan had wrapped his arm around Eric's waist and Eric had held his shoulder all the times, which would have been romantic on other better conditions. They both laughed at that, forgetting the pain of their injuries for a while.

Alan's injuries were not much, most of them had healed when they had arrived, but Eric, he would not let the doctors and nurses—not even William—to touch his injured back. To his dismay, irritated William had managed to walk to his backside when he was too busy chasing off the doctors and knocked him hard on the head with his scythe altogether.

Eric's eyes rolled to the back and he fell on his face on the bed with winces of the doctors.

"There you go, doctors. Please treat his injuries well," William had said, straightening his glasses with a pen.

Alan swore there was amusement and pride gleaming on William's eyes then.

The wound never healed, and Alan never knew until they were together—until Eric walked without a shirt on when he woke up on a morning. He had been so upset that Eric had been keeping it secret, but Eric had assured him that they ugly scar had stayed as a memento—a reminder that he had managed to stop the demon from killing Alan, and a reminder that Alan had saved him from being buried alive under the corpse. Later, he had added jokingly that it would remind him of the fact that he was saved by his apprentice and not only otherwise.

"Your lover," Alan had corrected him, and they both had laughed at that.

Beside him, Eric shifted and turned around to face him. His emerald eyes were not fully open, and an arm snaked sleepily around his waist to pull him closer.

"What's it, Alan?" he whispered softly.

Alan smiled and kissed his lips lightly. "It's nothing, Eric. Sleep."

**THE END**

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><p>Disclaimer: Alan Humphries and Eric Slingby belong to each other.<p>

Enjoy~! ^^/


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